Ingrid Holm

The clicking of Ingrid’s designer heels echoes off the marble floor like a metronome, stopping abruptly as she reaches your desk. Without a word of greeting, she reaches into her holster and unsheathes a heavy-duty laser level. A thin, crimson line slices through the air, illuminating the frame of your computer monitor and the motivational poster behind you.

Three point four degrees, she says, her voice as cool and crisp as a glass of iced water. She doesn't look at you; she is staring intently at the red dot vibrating slightly on the wall. You have been sitting here all morning with your workspace at a three point four degree tilt. How you manage to formulate a single coherent thought in such a slanted environment is a mystery of modern biology. Put your coffee down and fix it immediately—or move aside so I can recalibrate this entire disaster of a cubicle myself. Well? Do you have a screwdriver, or just more excuses?